


I'll Look After You

by MrsSaxon



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Continuation, Episode: s01e08 Fromage, First Kiss, Fluff, Fromage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, Season 1, Vignette, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5179322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsSaxon/pseuds/MrsSaxon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was here brushing Hannibal’s hair back, combing it back into place with his fingers, that Will realized this had gone way beyond simple medical treatment. To be perfectly honest, there was no call for him to do any of this; he easily had the authority to have ordered someone else to do it. And yet, he had chosen to patiently sit here and take care of Hannibal."</p><p>After seeing Hannibal injured, but alive at the end of Fromage, Will is compelled to stay and take care of him. Hannibal can't resist the offer and, as it turns out, neither can Will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Look After You

It was a shock, to say the least, seeing Hannibal’s office dressed up as a crime scene. Bright flood lights and yellow markers everywhere; Hannibal’s precise aesthetic design in tatters. And then there was Hannibal himself, not standing, waiting expectant and unflappable as always, but crouched in his desk chair, bleeding, hair falling into watery eyes. He looked traumatized, he looked hurt, and he looked… well, considerably flapped.

But when Hannibal raised his eyes to see who else had invaded his sanctuary, Will felt a bone-deep surge of relief, hope breaking over his tightly worried face. The shared look was almost tangible, tense as a bow string; he could almost read Hannibal’s gaze as words, calling out ‘There you are’ as if he were an answer to a prayer. That’s certainly how it felt, the way Hannibal looked at him, the sheer force in his gaze was humbling. Will couldn’t deny it pierced him to his heart and he felt a yearning tug towards the folded man.

Even though he knew he should be taking in the crime scene, helping in the investigation, he could scarcely break eye-contact with Hannibal long enough to really see what had taken place. It still felt unreal; that the killer Will had been grappling with minutes before had then launched himself at Hannibal, of all people. That Hannibal had been attacked and, strangest of all, Hannibal had succeeded in overthrowing his attacker. Not that Will was unhappy with this outcome, far from it, but Will felt cold inside when he thought of Hannibal having to fight and kill to defend himself. It didn’t seem at all right or fair that the innocent should have to fight too.

Whenever Will’s eyes strayed, he couldn’t help but notice Hannibal’s eyes remained on him, searching, intent. It was so hard to look away when clearly all Hannibal wanted to do was just look at him and reassure himself he was alright.

Will let himself near the desk and gave a small sigh, surrendering to the need to take care of Hannibal first before investigating anything. Hannibal just looked up at him with wide, grateful eyes and said, “I was worried you were dead.” As if that needed saying, as if Will hadn’t felt Hannibal’s worry and relief in heavy measure since he stepped into the room. Will just smiled grimly, sad and reluctant, but wanting to reassure him anyway.

Jack slowly detailed his history of events, taking his time in consideration of Hannibal’s nerves, but it was still with an air of incomprehension that bordered on suspicion. Will felt a small twinge of anger and looked sharply at Jack, annoyed that he would doubt Hannibal at a time like this, even if none of it did add up.

Hannibal said the patient was the link, that Tobias Budge had come here to murder him and then turned on Hannibal. Was it possible Hannibal could have had a patient who was a killer, or the friend of one? The gut-reaction was to say it was too convenient, but of course it was possible. No therapist can deduce killer from innocent, not without explicit disclosure. There was every chance that Hannibal’s patient could have been in league, in some way, with Tobias.

And yet, Jack’s words, “This doesn’t feel simple to me” echoed Will’s thoughts neatly. Still… he could worry about the machinations of would-be murders and murderers forever. They were dead and Hannibal was alive so where was the real problem? If he needed another puzzle to keep him up at night, he’d turn to this.

Will barely noticed Jack turning away as he sat down on the edge of Hannibal’s desk. Under normal circumstances, Hannibal probably would have considered it rude and nagged him to get up and find a proper seat. But at the moment, this proximity gave them much wanted intimacy. The sounds of forensics and photographers faded behind them and Hannibal sitting before him, flinching when he moved, was all Will saw.

Will sighed deeply, taking in all the painful details about Hannibal’s altered appearance. Like a ‘find the difference’ game he never wanted to play. “I feel like I’ve dragged you into my world,” Will frowned, speaking softly. Dragged was an apt description. The cuts and bruises across his face, the torn and stained parts of his clothing, matched perfectly well to wound patterns for one hauled over sharp surfaces.

And yet, Hannibal shrugged it off, “Ah, I got here on my own.” Will was tempted to smile at his diffidence, until he noticed the way Hannibal flexed and tested his hurt hand. The cut around his wrist looked deep and serious, pressing through many layers of clothing to reach flesh. The blood around the wound was sticky, holding the fabrics together. Piano wire had done it, Will would guess, he’d had a run in with it himself.

“But I appreciate the company,” Hannibal insisted on joking, on making Will smile. Will did smile at that, at his absurd dedication to making light out of things even when he had some license to feel understandably sorry for himself.

Will looked him over once more, tallying up in his mind how many injuries Hannibal had and it became disgraceful that no one had tended to him yet. “That looks bad,” Will nodded to his wrist.

“This? It only hurts when I try to move it,” Hannibal replied, demonstrating by weakly raising and lowering his arm, teeth gritting the whole time.

“Then don’t,” Will insisted, putting his hand out to stop him. Hannibal looked up and Will’s lips quirked, “Funny I should be telling you what to do when it’s usually the other way around. Here, let me get a kit, I’ll clean you up.”

Without waiting for a reaction, Will got up and moved over to the forensic lab equipment. They weren’t paramedics, sure, but they had some basic first aid and that would be enough for the superficial treatment. It wasn’t until his hands closed around the plastic kit that it hit him that he had volunteered to mend Hannibal instead of letting someone more qualified do it.

Will swallowed, looking down at the white container, and rationalized that he was here and no one had done it yet so he might as well. It wasn’t a bad instinct to take care of one’s friends, after all. And Hannibal was a friend… It was just that Will had never consciously used that word for Hannibal before. Their relationship was… from the beginning they had some kind of connection. Will just wasn’t in the business of making friends and this… well, whatever it was, it was good and Will wasn’t going to waste time analyzing it now.

He walked back over and avoided making eye contact with Hannibal, slipping back into old patterns. Will hoped Hannibal wouldn’t notice, but of course, the clever psychiatrist’s eyes were still on him constantly, searching, and a little bit surprised, Will thought, at his kindness.

“Don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t a cop that long ago, I still know basic first aid,” Will muttered defensively. He sat even closer to Hannibal and pulled his chair so that he could better examine his wrist. Will borrowed time opening the kit and quickly sorting through it for disinfectant and bandages. Setting those aside, Will darted a quick look between Hannibal’s face and arm, “I’ll start with your arm,” he said baldly, wanting to say something to break the growing bubble of silence.

Hannibal faintly nodded and gently proffered his injured arm. Will looked at the torn jacket and grimaced. “You may want to think about a new suit,” Will said apologetically as he examined where the piano wire had ripped into the fine-stitched tweed.

Hannibal smiled through cut lips, not seeming to mind the pain, “You don’t think the blood-stained and ripped look would work for me?”

Will laughed out loud, despite himself, “It might be off-putting to your patients.”

Hannibal grinned, then sighed mournfully, looking at the ruined jacket, “This one was going out of fashion anyway.” Will smiled sympathetically, even though he didn’t give a damn about clothes himself, and gingerly removed the butchered cuff, having to snap the threads still tenaciously hanging together.

“I don’t know much about fashion, but I’d say that was well made,” Will commented, laying the bloody section aside.

Hannibal inclined his head, “I find it impossible to get a decent store bought suit. A good tailor is worth the riches of the world.” He sighed, “I shall have to think deeply on what I will replace this one with.”

Will couldn’t help rolling his eyes a little as he pulled the remains of the sleeve back and carefully unbuttoned Hannibal’s shirt sleeve to roll it back. “It’s a _suit,_ Hannibal, it’s clothing. Meanwhile, you’ve been stabbed, cut, bludgeoned, and had to fight for your life.”

Will knew Hannibal was pouting, but only gave him a dry look over the damage on his arm. Will focused on it and winced. Hannibal’s smooth skin had a deep, ugly gash all the way around his forearm, nothing that wouldn’t heal, but Will worried about scarring without proper medical attention.

Will doused a cotton swab in disinfectant and hovered over him, pulling his arm across his lap. “This will hurt,” he murmured apologetically before starting to clean the dried blood and torn flesh. Hannibal hissed a breath and Will could feel him tense under the pain, but otherwise he did nothing but sit patiently.

Will was pleased to see that the bleeding had stopped on its own, that when he drew the swab away it didn’t come back with fresh, red blood. Even so, it took two heavily used swabs to clean all the lacerations. Now cleared of debris, Will could see the wire had wrapped around his arm twice, leaving narrow slits of skin barely hanging on.

He frowned angrily, upset all over again that a criminal had hurt his friend like this. It was useless being angry at a dead man so Will didn’t concentrate on the feeling, but he did feel a private sense of satisfaction at his death. And then the satisfaction was overcome by a swelling of relief that this was all that had been done to Hannibal and nothing worse.

“Almost done,” Will sighed, looking up, surprised to find less people in the room.

“Will, we’re heading out, forensics has all they need. You ready to go?” Jack came back over, buttoning his coat.

Will shook his head, “No, you go ahead. I’m gonna stay.” Will looked down and concentrated on his bandages, not feeling like explaining himself.

Jack raised an eyebrow, glancing between Will’s hands unrolling the bandages and the wounded doctor under his ministrations. “Dr. Lecter, we will have to question you officially tomorrow morning, as a formality,” Jack added, turning to Hannibal.

Hannibal nodded, understanding, “I’m sure I will be mended well enough to be interviewed by then,” he replied with a coy smile at Will.

Will pretended not to notice and focused on wrapping the unrolled bandage around Hannibal’s arm.

“Good, I’ll leave you then in Will’s capable hands,” Jack smirked and Will finally blushed. Hannibal’s teasing he could take, only just, but not from Jack. Will ignored the quiet snickering as Jack left and didn’t look up at Hannibal until after he was sure Jack was gone.

Will finally looked up cautiously, sure that Hannibal would be giving him a patronizing smile. To his surprise, Hannibal had gone back to giving him that intent, almost wistful stare. Will swallowed reflexively and continued wrapping the bandage around his arm, tying it off tight and firm. “There, free of infection and protected. You should get that stitched up though, it looks like it will scar,” Will nodded, leaning back.

Hannibal took his arm back and rubbed over the bandaged patch, “Thank you, Will. I couldn’t have done better myself.”

Will suddenly remembered that Hannibal had been a licensed physician and felt like a prize idiot. He rubbed his face to hide his embarrassment and reminded himself that Hannibal still would have needed two hands to bandage himself so Will hadn’t gone too overboard with this.

“Thanks, it’s just… y’know, something you have to know how to do on the job,” Will muttered into the carpet. Looking down reminded him Hannibal’s leg had been stabbed quite badly. That really would need stitches and while he couldn’t do that here, he could at least take a look.

“You were stabbed with your own knife, is that right?” Will frowned, kneeling on the floor to look at Hannibal’s calf.

Hannibal scooted back to give him more room, “Yes, I had left it out to sharpen my pencils. During our altercation he grabbed it before I could,” Hannibal smiled sadly, “Teach me to leave out sharp instruments.”

Will snorted at Hannibal’s continual downplaying of the violence done here, but didn’t correct him. He rolled back Hannibal’s pant leg with some difficulty. The pants, like the rest of the suit, were custom made and fit him too well to be manhandled like this. Nonetheless, Will managed to hike them up enough to see the damage, bunching the fabric at Hannibal’s knee, and he really shouldn’t be surprised to see a bandage already there. Of course Hannibal had the sense to take care of his worst wound himself; Will felt dumb for not crediting Hannibal with the presence of mind for it.

“Ah, you’ve already… of course you have,” Will smiled slightly.

Hannibal grinned, “I’m afraid I’ve already taken care of that one for you.”

Will sighed, “Well, I can change it while I’m here.” The gauze Hannibal had taped down was mostly red, glutted with blood. A change wasn’t a bad idea. Will looked up and reached for his supplies, but Hannibal handed them to him before Will could think about getting up.

Will smiled shyly. He hadn’t expected Hannibal to take part in this and give his tacit approval for Will taking care of him. It made Will blush a little, for his caring to be acknowledged, so he murmured a thank you and carefully peeled off the bandage without meeting Hannibal’s eyes. Beneath the wad of gauze there was an unmistakable stab wound. But it was well cleaned already and probably just needed stitches and rest.

Will noticed, however, a dried trail of blood running down Hannibal’s calf and into his sock from before Hannibal had been able to staunch the bleeding. Will frowned and doused some gauze in disinfectant, wiping the stains away.

“That’s not completely necessary, Will,” Hannibal said gently, clearing his throat.

Will paused and swallowed. Hannibal did have a point; he was washing his leg on very little invitation. Still, Will kept going, replying, “I said I’d clean you up, didn’t I?”

“You did.” There was a comforting smile in Hannibal’s voice that let Will relax again. Will smiled back still looking down, knowing Hannibal would see anyway, and at last put away the sullied wipe. Bunching some new, clean gauze, Will taped it down over the wound again and rubbed down the wet spots on Hannibal’s leg before pulling down his pant leg again.

Will flushed a little, belatedly sensing the heat under his left hand on Hannibal’s knee, where it had stayed this whole time. He looked up cautiously and felt foolish being awkward. Hannibal looked as pleased as one recently half-beaten to death could look. It both reassured Will and gave him a nervous flutter in his chest.

He stood, dusting himself off and his eyes stuck on the various injuries across Hannibal’s face. Bruised cheekbones, at least one black eye, lips cut and bloodied, his forehead was turning an awful shade of green and rising from inflammation. Will sighed mournfully, thinking about how poised and coordinated Hannibal normally looked.

“Is it that bad?” Hannibal murmured, self-deprecating smile stretched on his wincing lips.

“Hmm?” Will blinked, meeting his eyes, then realized Hannibal of course knew he’d been looking at him, “Oh! Oh, no, it’s just… this shouldn’t have happened. I can’t help feeling-”

Hannibal reached his good hand out and put it over Will’s to stop him from continuing, “I told you I got here on my own. You mustn’t feel guilty for this, Will. You might be taking care of me right now, but I’m still your psychiatrist.” Hannibal grinned, squinting at him.

Will cracked a relieved smile and nodded, “A very good but brutally attacked psychiatrist, need I remind you.” He sighed and picked up the disinfectant one last time, “At least let me…” Will trailed off, thinking about how close this would bring him to Hannibal’s face, touching him this intimately.

Hannibal hesitated and swallowed. Wordlessly he pushed forward and tilted his head up to Will, so he could better see what was wrong. Will swallowed hard, amazed by the show of vulnerability. Not a word he’d ever used with Hannibal before, and yet here he was, putting complete faith in Will to treat him.

Will wondered if he should ask Hannibal to close his eyes, if he could bear to do this with him watching, but Hannibal saved him the trouble. He closed his eyes with a quiet sigh, almost as if he knew what Will was thinking. Will was supremely grateful for that, for Hannibal’s accuracy in reading people and knowing what they needed. Many a time Hannibal had put him at ease and smoothed social encounters with an inherent sense of grace that Will neither had nor understood.

But better to get on with it before things got awkward. Will wrapped up a cluster of gauze and wet it with disinfectant. Biting his lip nervously, Will started from the top at Hannibal’s domed forehead. He stroked around the raised bruise where he'd been struck, touching him gingerly, and still not quite skin to skin. Then he neatly rubbed away some of the clotted blood where the skin had broken, hoping it didn’t sting too much.

Will watched his face and there was only the slightest flutter of unease across Hannibal’s eyelids as he worked. “I’m glad you’re alive too,” Will murmured.

“Hmm?” Hannibal tilted his face slightly, in place of a more communicative expression.

Will rubbed away the blood and drew a shaking breath, “I didn’t hear you had been attacked until Jack picked me up. I was… disoriented by it. I couldn’t believe that my world had invaded yours and you might be in jeopardy. Jack assured me you were fine,” Will stopped, wanting to say ‘but I was still scared for you’ but he couldn’t. Instead he finished brusquely, “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

Hannibal’s lips drew up in a pleased smile, “You’re dressing my wounds and in the same breath you say you’re glad I’m alright.”

Will pouted and would have been tempted to flick him if not for the fact that Hannibal’s entire face probably hurt like hell already. “I just meant-”

“Will,” Hannibal opened his eyes and pulled his hands down for a moment, “I _am_ alright.” And he smiled this enigmatic smile that Will didn’t entirely understand, but didn’t need to to feel Hannibal’s reassurance. How absurd that Hannibal should be comforting him during this instead of the other way around.

Will exhaled softly and nodded. Hannibal let go of his wrists, satisfied, and leaned up to him again. Will brushed the gauze over the cut across his nose, then paused for a quick breath before cupping his cheek and tilting one side of his face to the light to see the bruises across his cheekbone and eyebrow.

Will tried very, very hard not to focus on feeling Hannibal’s cheek and long jawline under his hand but he couldn’t help it. Hannibal’s skin was thin and soft and smooth; it yielded easily under Will’s touch, revealing the hard bones of his face. He was almost tempted to ask how Hannibal achieved so close a shave, but that would have been a terrible thing to ask and he shouldn’t be thinking about how smooth or unsmooth Hannibal’s skin was anyway.

Will swallowed, shoving that thought away and raising the gauze to Hannibal’s eyebrow to begin cleaning it. Will’s fingers however had not quite got the message that they were not supposed to be thinking about how warm and soft Hannibal’s skin was and instead found his pulse. It was regular; the rhythm soothing, lulling him to relax.

“You’re not wearing that terrible cologne today,” Hannibal broke in, distracting him.

“What?” Will blinked, startled, “N-No, no, didn’t shave.” Recognition slowly dawned on him, remembering how Hannibal had complained about his cheap cologne and Will began to smile, pleased with Hannibal remembering that small detail. Even so, he was glad Hannibal’s eyes were closed and couldn’t tell he was pleased.

Hannibal shifted slightly, lips curling anyway, “Just as well for me, you smell better without it.”

Will snorted and shook his head, tenderly wiping away the blood from his cheek bone, “I’m glad my nose is not as sensitive as yours.”

Hannibal smiled, “You would adapt to it. But fortunately, you do not need to.” He breathed deeply and exhaled slowly, “I smell blood mixing with your antiseptic, do you need to change your gauze?”

Will looked at it and saw that he was right, it was turning a little pink. He didn’t say anything, but did let go of Hannibal to throw the gauze away and wrap a clean bundle. When he turned back, Hannibal’s eyes were open, watching him, “Any better?” he looked up hopefully.

Will’s eyes relaxed around the corners and he nodded, “Much, you look almost like you usually do.” Will cupped Hannibal’s chin freely to tilt his face and clean the other side. He assumed Hannibal would close his eyes for him again, but this time he didn’t, making Will’s touch hesitate now being watched.

Hannibal kept looking at him with a curious gaze as Will tried to concentrate on taking care of his injuries. “How _do_ I usually look?” Hannibal asked.

Will quirked an eyebrow and shrugged. “Polished, self-contained, detail-obsessed to be honest,” Will met his eyes briefly, flicking back to addressing the angry bruise on his temple, “and stylish, I guess.”

Hannibal chuckled dryly and Will flushed a little, giving an embarrassed smile, “I told you, I really don’t know anything about fashion.”

“Then I will accept stylish as a compliment,” Hannibal returned.

“It was intended as such,” Will muttered, finding it difficult to both keep talking and clean this spot under his eye while Hannibal was looking at him. Hannibal reluctantly closed his eyes for Will to work on it and Will was grateful to take a breath without feeling Hannibal’s careful scrutiny. He was sure Hannibal didn’t intend to look at him quite so hard, perhaps it was just the sudden closeness that was making him so sensitive to what Hannibal was doing.

Will slowly finished up, double-checking his earlier work and taking care cleaning the blood trails hanging from Hannibal’s mouth. Very gently, he brushed at the cuts around the corners of his mouth, trying not to press or make Hannibal’s mouth open. Will swallowed hard, his gauze trailing over the outline of his lips, clearing away the traces of violence. He ignored the tickle of Hannibal’s breath on his fingers and the pleasant give of his lips when he had to press, just a little.

Will finally set the gauze down, but was not satisfied with his work. Hannibal still didn’t look mended. His eyes were still downcast, his hair still flopped over his face, giving him a mortified shadow. Will instantly realized that was the problem. Hannibal’s hair was always swept back and gelled, tightly controlled. Seeking after that image of wholeness, he tucked Hannibal’s hair back behind his ear. But it wouldn’t stay. His fingers pulled at it, gently, trying to find where it fit.

“Mmm…” he sighed thoughtfully, working both hands into his hair and sinking his fingers into it.

It was here brushing Hannibal’s hair back, combing it back into place with his fingers, that Will realized this had gone way beyond simple medical treatment. To be perfectly honest, there was no call for him to do any of this; he easily had the authority to have ordered someone else to do it. And yet, he had chosen to patiently sit here and take care of Hannibal.

That’s even how he thought of it, taking care. Not just stitching him up: making him feel better, putting him to rights, comforting him…

Will was brought out of his mind by a soft noise from Hannibal. Will looked down and saw Hannibal’s eyes closed, relaxed, completely leaning into Will’s touch. Will saw his fingers still stroking, felt the silky strands slide between them as he pretended he was just fixing his hair and didn’t actually enjoy how this felt… Will swallowed hard, wanting to stop, to know how to stop, but not wanting even one bit for this moment to end.

His hands slowed like his thoughts, drawing out into nothing. He so badly wanted an excuse to keep doing this, but kept running through Hannibal’s hair and coming up with nothing but the pure, selfish desire to continue just because it felt nice.

“You can keep going, if you like,” Hannibal murmured, as if Will’s touch was transmitting his thoughts directly. It was uncanny how it was exactly what he needed to hear when he needed to hear it. Will’s lips parted and his gaze refocused on Hannibal’s face, just as Hannibal opened his eyes to look back at him.

He wasn’t sure which of them moved first or if they didn’t move at the same time. But there was a small slice of time between their eyes meeting and then their lips and it was so small and quick, it was like the universe had gasped. They were apart and blink, they were together.

Will couldn’t put a finger on why it felt right, but he wasn’t terribly bothered with reasons at the moment. Hannibal was alive, he was warm and here and alive and that’s all he wanted. His fingers embedded in his hair, wrapping around his skull, kissing him tenderly. His tongue could feel the rough patches where skin was cut. He could taste the antiseptic, but Hannibal with it. On the corner of his mouth, he could still taste coppery blood and he licked warm, soothing strokes over where Hannibal had been hurt.

And his psychiatrist gave back as good as he got. Will found Hannibal’s hand on his thigh, using him as leverage to press up to kiss him. His lips suckled on his, pulling at the tender skin, heedless of whether or not the actions tore open the cuts around his mouth. Hannibal teased and kissed and licked his lower lip until it was swollen and plump, then bit down, making Will shiver. Hannibal’s hand slid up his thigh and around his hip, but didn’t stop, moving up to support his lower back and pull him closer.

Hannibal wanted him, _Hannibal wanted him_. The thought resounded in his mind like the ringing of a bell. Hannibal’s yearning touch, bringing him closer, brought that truth down hard. Hannibal wasn’t doing this to amuse him or humor whatever twisted, fucked up version of affection this was. Hannibal consented to this fully and willingly. The knowledge was a giddy rush pressing a wheezed giggle through his nose.

They broke, lips parting reluctantly like jigsaw pieces that rightfully belonged together. They shared breath and motion as they met each other’s eyes and waited. For a moment, Will felt like bolting, but Hannibal’s arm curled around him and pulled him closer, urging him not to go. Will settled back against his touch unconsciously, all his thoughts directed to trying to read those big brown eyes in front of him. They were clear and glassy and open and yet Will found a thousand readings in them, all contradictory.

Will self-consciously licked his lips, tasting Hannibal’s saliva, drawing it into his mouth and swallowing. Hannibal’s careful eyes flicked to the motion, watching the glistening moisture disappear into Will’s mouth, then quickly looking back up at him with no change of expression. Will wanted to speak, wished one of them would say something, but it was as if they both agreed that if they spoke, they could never do this again. And neither of them was quite prepared to sacrifice that.

Will parted his lips, breathing still shallow, and cocked his head lower, just slightly. It was all Hannibal needed for an excuse to kiss him again, this time half rising out of his chair and holding Will in both his arms. Will fleetingly panicked for Hannibal’s arm, worried he’d tear the skin fresh and start bleeding through the bandage, but Hannibal was kissing him so insistently in a second he didn’t care.

Will found himself leaning back against the desk as Hannibal grew more assertive, slipping his tongue over and between his lips, as if seeking after what was his to take it back. Will couldn’t say he minded as his lips buzzed every time Hannibal brushed over them.

Will indulged himself, laying his palms flat against Hannibal’s hollow cheeks, cradling his face. His fingertips reached back into his hairline and continued stroking at his temples, hopelessly craving the feeling of his hair sliding through his fingers. Hannibal made a pleased humming sound, stronger than the one before, now confident that Will wouldn’t find it shameful.

Will sighed as a wave of pleasure rolled up his spine. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this, felt happy and excited and, to be honest, a bit aroused. It felt foreign like a long-forgotten memory he was only just revisiting and didn’t wholly recognize. And he wanted to savor it, let this feeling last. It had been such a long time since he felt any pleasure like this.

He took a deep breath and pushed Hannibal lightly, breaking the kiss. Will kept his eyes closed a second longer, recovering himself. When he opened them, he was smiling and said, “I think I should go now.”

Hannibal’s hair was hanging pitifully in his eyes again and Will’s heart did a little backflip, half wanting to fix it, half thrilled that he made it happen. Hannibal closed his mouth, left open and inviting from the kiss, and swallowed. He nodded reluctantly, “You should.” The mere fact he wouldn’t meet his eyes spoke volumes of regret. Will grinned to himself, storing that information away for later.

“I’m um… glad I stayed to clean you up,” Will said, feeling he ought to in some way acknowledge what happened. His lips kept twisting in a half-embarrassed smile as he said it.

Hannibal looked up at him and cocked his head, considering him carefully. Will waited patiently, for once, not feeling shy under Hannibal’s gaze. “Earlier today I was worried I might never see you again. Instead, here you are, taking care of me,” Hannibal leaned in to murmur, “which is much more than I could have hoped for.”

Will felt his skin prickle and his lips quirked, “I’m just glad you’re alright. And I’m glad I am too.” He grinned and was pleased to see Hannibal’s eyes crease in a smile.

Will shifted and noticed Hannibal’s arms were still around him, preventing him from moving.

“You have to let go of me if I’m going to leave, Dr. Lecter,” Will teased gently.

Hannibal released him with an undisguised sigh and stepped back only just enough for Will to move, but not enough that Will could do it without rubbing against him one last time.

“Will,” Hannibal’s voice arrested him just as he reached the door, “Thank you.” He said when Will turned to look at him. Will swallowed, feeling the same surge of relief and gratitude and happiness he felt when he first entered the room.

Will could only smile and nod as he walked out, remembering the taste of Hannibal’s lips on his and feeling those deep dark eyes on him all the way into his car and home. He wasn’t sure what Hannibal meant, what any of this meant, if they were going to continue this or not. But that dark, overturned office and what they did when they were alone together he wouldn’t forget for a long time.


End file.
